


An Afternoon Appointment

by heelofpatroclus



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, Office Sex, mystrade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-04
Updated: 2017-10-04
Packaged: 2019-01-09 00:16:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12264987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heelofpatroclus/pseuds/heelofpatroclus
Summary: Greg was ordered by his superior to a debriefing when he was just back from INTERPOL. Turns out that Mycroft had arranged an amorous rendezvous. How could Greg turn down a shag in the middle of the workday?





	An Afternoon Appointment

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Fragile](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10286939) by [Lavender_and_Vanilla](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lavender_and_Vanilla/pseuds/Lavender_and_Vanilla). 



> Inspired by LAV's "almost comfort sex" in Greg's office as it drove me nuts that they'd fool around without the door locked. So.... I've been working on this for ages and eons at this point. Comments are always appreciated.

It certainly wasn’t the first time that Greg had been in Mycroft’s private office, and it wouldn’t be the last either. But it was the first time that they had penciled in a _consultation_ , as it were. The red phone had been tucked out of sight. The papers had been placed on top of the file cabinet along with the breakable knick-nacks. So, Mycroft was left to read white papers on his laptop and check his pocket-watch every five minutes.

Finally, there was a sharp rap at the door before Anthea stuck her head in. She opened the door all the way when he glanced up and gave her a small nod. Her face remained impassive as she stepped into the room to let in Greg, following closely on her heels. “Your lunch appointment, sir. Detective Inspector Lestrade.”

“Yes, of course. Make sure we aren’t disturbed—ah, we have… pressing matters to discuss.” Mycroft easily pushed the lid of the laptop closed, his eyes never leaving Greg as he pushed his chair back.

Greg’s face was somber as he stood looking between the two bureaucrats, his arms clasped loosely behind his back.

“I’ll be sure to hold your messages. Is that all, sir?”

“Yes, thank you.”

She nodded once before turning on her heel to walk back out the door. Her heels clacked against the floor, the sound muffled as the door closes behind her before there was a small snick of a lock bolting.

Taking off his coat a moment seemed to give Greg a moment to mull over the proceedings, as he had a sly smile when he looked back to Mycroft after slinging the coat on the chair by the door. “So… let me get this straight. Your PA just rearranged my entire afternoon. I got an email from my DCI telling me I had to report here for some ‘debriefing-slash-training session’. You have my number, love—try using it next time? Not that I mind being…redirected for ‘lunch’.”

Although Mycroft’s face was still tight, the smile he had as he looked at Greg looked genuine. “I merely thought it an… appropriate time to make use of a slight gap in our schedules.” His fingers trailed lightly on the wood of the desk as he stepped out from behind his desk to use the edge of it to perch. It’s been nearly a week since you’ve been back from INTERPOL, and we’ve barely had time for a phone call.”

“Two workahol—wait a minute, you just said you missed me!” A great grin broke out on Greg’s face, and it only took a few steps for him to bridge the gap between the two men.

Mycroft raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms over his chest for a moment before leaning back against the desk, using his arm to brace himself. “I asked Anthea to…shuffle things about a bit.”

“Oh, just admit it—you missed me!”

“It’s just that—“

“Cut the crap, Mycroft.” Hot breath on Mycroft’s ear.

Mycroft leaned back a bit to look him in the eye, giving his partner a half-hearted glare. “Oh, for god’s sake. Of course, I bloody well missed you.”

This time Greg's voice was soft and husky. “Say it again.” Moved imperceptibly forward, so they’re not quite touching.

“Wasn’t once enough?”

“No.” Barely more than a breathy whisper. “Say…it…again.” He punctuated each word with a kiss on the corners of Mycroft’s mouth, and then the edge of the lower lip, but never actually kissing him.

“Gregory, this is ridi—“ A hand was trailing up the wool of the waistcoat, slowly releasing the top three buttons before pulling the tie out from underneath and gently running rough fingers up and down the silk.

“The price of a kiss,” And then the rough fingers were scraping against the smooth cotton shirt, smoothly pulling the tie pin off with a quick pinch of the closure. “You want a kiss, don’t you?” Licking his lips, gave a jerky nod. Greg’s hands were slowly trailing down the silk tie again, hooking his fingers lightly into front of the waist coat. “Say you’ve missed me, and I’ll give you a kiss.”

“I – you – the distance was… most difficult.” There was quiet chuckle, but Greg’s right hand came up to grab Mycroft’s cheek and pull him in for the promised kiss. It was desperate, almost violent with the sheer force of need and being back together. Both were intoxicated by the taste, the touch of the other by the time they pulled apart panting. For a just enough time to catch a breath, they leaned forehead to forehead, looking between them but not moving.

Mycroft took a step away from the desk and towards his partner, ending up with one leg between Greg’s thighs and close enough that their chests were pressed together before his arms had encircled Greg’s shoulders. Greg’s arms entwined themselves around Mycroft’s waist under the suit jacket. “Love,” Greg finally murmured, his arms tightening to brace himself as he leaned back to look at Mycroft’s face. “Have you been eating enough? You seem thinner.”

A heavy sigh from Mycroft. “Sadly not. I’ve gained two pounds.”

Greg’s jaw twitched and he bit his lip before he took on a very serious face. “We’ll just have to work it off then. This’ s’posed to be a… ‘debriefing’ after all. I know I could use it after all that fancy food at the conference.”

“According to a Canadian study, published in the Public Library of Sciences research repository, the average amount of time that is used for physical exertion during coital—“ A hand came up to cover Mycroft’s mouth, so as to stop the explanation.

“Love, being ‘Wikipedia’ is only sexy if you aren’t using it for _explaining_ the fun out of sex, ya know?” There was a half-mocking glare. “If you’d prefer, I could let you keep talking until I think of some old statute still on the books.” Mycroft’s brow furrowed for just a second as Greg’s hand released his jaw and came to rest on his shoulder. Silver hair tickled the younger man’s cheek as the inspector leaned in to whisper very softly. “Let you talk until you break some indecency statute everyone’s forgotten about—whip out my handcuffs…let you stammer as I bend you over the desk to cuff you…making it worse on yourself by just giving me more ammunition. Naugh-ty bureaucrat, trying to bribe an… officer of the law.” Greg pauses for effect. “Offering that pretty mouth of yours for your freedom?”

Mycroft was biting his lip by the end, eyes half-closed. Yet his response was about the last thing that Greg had wanted to come out of his mouth after a heavy sigh. “Much though that your…proposal sounds incredibly appealing, we would be much better served with running… he trailed off vaguely.

“Unless there’s twin treadmills hidden in the floor, love, you’re not ruining this with all your reasoning.”

“Of course, there’s not.” Mycroft was silent for a few moments before heaving a ragged sigh. He suddenly composed his face into an expressionless mask, his voice low and sharp as cut glass, but his eyes shone with arousal. “Nevertheless, I believe I know several ways to accommodate your request whilst meeting my… specific requirements. You did mention handcuffs, after all.” He cleared his throat before quickly pulling a deft hand from Greg’s pocket. Then, he was holding up a pair of steel handcuffs, a smug look on his face. “Though, Inspector, I believe that you would be the one caught _in flagrante delicto_ of whatever laws on obscenity you referenced.”

“I’m not about to be bare-arsed and cuffed to your desk, Myc…“

There was a murmur of agreement as Mycroft set the handcuffs down. “That would be better left to _your_ office—“ the rest of the thought was swallowed by a kiss, plundering hands diving back under the jacket to rest on the small of his back.

Mycroft’s mind filed through all the possibilities of problems, but he knew that the door was locked and in the bottom of his file cabinet was a package of condoms and a tube of lube. The pounding of his heart beat louder in his ears, and for a moment a wave of anxiety washed over him. Mycroft squashed down the temptation to step back and say that this was inappropriate. Just being close enough to smell the musky aftershave that Greg always wore made his growing erection throb.

All day the bureaucrat had been distracted, and all week he had been planning this. Anthea knew simply because she could juggle all the details to keep everything secret. And whom else did he have to talk to about the whole affair? The difference between the anticipation and desire for contact, and the act of actually reaching out and taking it was his biggest anxiety.

“—Earth to Mycroft? Don’t tell me you’re like the… ah, opposite of Sherlock and his talking everything out, and you’re just doing everything in your head without me.” It took a moment for Greg to come back into focus, and Mycroft blinked rapidly as his eyes darted first around and then down at himself. Few more buttons undone, pocket watch on the desk tray, and a hungry look in Greg’s eyes.

“Caught me ‘red-handed’, I suppose.”

“Just so long as I’m the one with the hands on the prize.”

“I’d say _you_ would be the prize.”

“How about we make the afternoon the prize and get back to it?” Greg pulled his hands out from beneath Mycroft’s suit jacket as he spoke, pushing gently against the lapel to push the jacket slowly off the bureaucrat’s shoulders with a long-suffering smile. His rough fingers raked over the crisp, cotton shirt as he helped Mycroft ease out of the jacket before casually tossing it towards the back of the desk chair. The suit jacket landed in a pile on the seat.

Greg shifted to lean more fully against Mycroft and the desk behind them, groaning softly as he felt warm lips on his neck.

No more conversation was had for the rest of their afternoon rendezvous.


End file.
